Some Like It Rough
by ChainOfPaperclips
Summary: In an effort to fit in better and gain acceptance from the inhabitants of Storybrooke, Killian shaves his beard-and Emma is not at all happy about it! One-shot fic. Unequivocally Captain Swan. Rating: solid M.


**A/N: After seeing pics and youtube clips with Colin sans beard, the idea for this fic started rattling around in my head, and I began to wonder how Emma would react to Killian without a beard. Thus the concept for this fic was born!**

**Some minor changes have also been made to the grammar and phrasing of this fic now that I'm not half asleep, so it should read a bit smoother in places.**

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The whispers and stares throughout Storybrooke amused Killian Jones. He could no longer walk anywhere in the unusual town that he now considered his home without attracting shocked glances and slack jaws. If he were being honest with himself (and he always was), he enjoyed the attention immensely-particularly from the more attractive female residents of Storybrooke. The irony, of course, was that he hadn't intended his change in appearance to attract the sort of intense interest he was garnering. His objective had been quite the opposite: to finally blend in to the little Maine town.

And though he had traded in his leather for jeans and t-shirts several weeks ago, Killian had known from the start that that change alone wouldn't be enough to force Storybrooke residents to look at him in a new light; a change of wardrobe was more or less expected, after all. No, if he wanted to capture the attention of Storybrooke's residents long enough to prove himself a changed man, he needed to do something drastic. Something unexpected.

So he shaved his facial hair off.

"Hook?" Dr. Hopper squinted as he passed the other man on the sidewalk. "Is that you? What happened to your beard?"

"Fancied a change," he called over his shoulder. Killian paused at the crosswalk and pressed the button, as Emma had shown him how to do weeks ago. Getting hit by one of those horseless metal carriages wasn't an experience he cared to repeat any time soon. Or ever.

Unless Swan would visit him in the hospital again.

And play nurse.

A grin split his face as he contemplated the naughty scenario, and he might have missed his chance to safely cross the street altogether, if not for the sudden squeal of tires. Blinking, Killian looked up to see a deep blue carriage sail through the red light, slamming to a sudden and spectacular stop when it crashed into a green carriage driving from a different direction. The window of the blue carriage slid down as he trotted across the street, and a familiar voice called to him in shock, "_Hook?_"

"Lovely to see you again, Ruby," he laughed at the brunette with a wave of his hand. "My regards to Victor," he winked, turning down the sidewalk toward The Rabbit Hole.

"You're going to pay for my car!" her voice floated after him.

"Put it on my tab at the diner!" he snarked back, opening the door to Storybrooke's most popular bar. Chuckling to himself, he threaded his way through the sea of people and claimed a stool at the bar. The bartender looked confused at first, shooting him curious looks as he filled orders for other patrons. When he placed his usual order for a glass of rum, however, recognition ignited in the bartender's eyes, and Killian chuckled.

"Hey, fella," a female voice purred behind him as the bartender handed him his drink, "haven't seen you before. Where you been hidin'?"

"Oh, I've been around."

"Yeah? Maybe we could have some fun later," she said, running the tip of her tongue along the curve of her lower lip.

"Sorry, lovely, my heart's already taken," he winked. Disappointment flashed in her brown eyes, and she swept away with a shrug of her shoulders and a pout of her lips. Killian lifted his drink, prepared to take a gulp, when a familiar figure sat down on a stool next to him.

"Hook," David greeted him.

"Dave," he replied. "What brings you here?"

The prince rolled his eyes, a pained expression on his face. "Do yourself a favor, mate. Never ever tell your pregnant wife that the baby looks like it has really grown this week."

"I don't understand."

"She thinks I called her fat."

"Oh." Killian winced. "Here, you need this more than I do, mate." He slid his drink across to the stressed prince.

"Thanks," David said, taking a long gulp of the beverage. "So," he said slowly, scrubbing a hand across his chin, "have you, um, seen Emma recently?"

"Not really. She's taken to avoiding me since we returned from Neverland," he frowned. "Why?"

"No reason," the prince coughed, shooting him a significant look. "But, uh," he said, clapping Killian on the shoulder, "I suspect you'll be hearing from her soon." He finished the drink and slid off his stool. "Good luck," he muttered, wandering off toward the pool tables.

What the bloody hell was that supposed to mean? Dismissing the remark with a shrug, Killian ordered another glass of rum. The bartender slid it down the bar, and Killian stopped the glass with his hook, pulling it toward him. A slim, graceful arm reached over his shoulder and snatched the drink away. "Hey!" he protested, wheeling around.

Green eyes watched him with a mixture of irritation and amusement as Emma Swan took a long drink from his tumbler of alcohol. "Hey yourself," she said, handing it back with a smirk.

He raised an eyebrow at her and took a long drink of his own. Long fingers grazed his skin, trailing across his jaw line. Killian choked, shocked at the sudden, intimate contact after weeks of virtually never seeing Emma at all. What the bloody hell was the damned siren up to, anyway?

"What's this all about?" she asked, removing her hand. Disappointment surged through him at the loss of contact.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Swan," he pretended with a lift of his chin that was calculated to get a rise out of Emma. "I'm as devilishly handsome as ever. All the more so. Really, love, I don't know how you resist me," he smirked, watching for her reaction out of the corner of his eye. "You're hell on a man's ego."

_3...2...1..._ he counted to himself.

"Seems like you still have plenty of ego left to me," she rolled her eyes. "Why did you shave your beard?"

"Felt like a change." True enough. But not the entire truth. Emma frowned, her eyes narrowing. Killian shifted uncomfortably under her steady, knowing gaze. Gods, but she was beautiful when she was irritated with him. And he tried to irritate her as much as possible.

"Come on, Hook." Her eyes narrowed. "We both know I can sense lies, and I know that's not the entire truth. What are you avoiding telling me?"

He tilted his head to the side, meeting her suspicious gaze with an arch of his brow. "Speaking of avoidance," he said, "you've been quite careful to evade me these past few weeks. And now you want me to reveal my secrets and motivations to you?" He shook his head. "It doesn't work that way, darling."

"I told you I needed time to figure things out."

"And what have you decided, darling?"

Silence.

"I see." He gulped down the last of his drink and pulled out his wallet.

"What are you doing?"

"Leaving, sweetheart." He handed the bartender some money. "I have plans."

Her eyes glinted with fear. "Plans?" she asked suspiciously.

"Again, Emma," he breathed, leaning in close to her, "we're not an item at the moment. I don't have to explain myself to you." He leaned back, irritated and turned on at the same time. "Perhaps I've gotten tired of waiting around for you to...'figure things out'." He stuffed the wallet back in the pocket of his jeans and shouldered his way through the crowd, in need of some air. Damnable, aggravating woman. Always trying to pull him closer and then push him away, nearly in the same breath.

And the hell of it all was that no matter much she did this, he still wanted her. But a man had to have some pride. He'd be damned if he played the part of a lovesick puppy, waiting on bated breath for a bit of attention or affection whenever she deigned to give it to him.

He shoved the bar door open and stepped into the cool night air, scrubbing through his hair with his hand. The bar door shut behind him, and he sighed in relief. Squaring his shoulders, he set off toward the docks, determined not to look back. Killian knew his resolve would crumble if he did.

And he wouldn't give Swan the sodding satisfaction, anyway.

"Hey" Emma's voice snapped out behind him.

Killian ground his teeth together. Clenching his hand into a fist, he pivoted to face her. "I think we've just about exhausted this conversation, love."

"Like hell!" Her eyes flashed in the glow of the street lanterns that lined the street. "Get in the car."

He followed her glare to where her small yellow carriage was parked along the curb several feet behind him. "I don't think so, Swan. I've not the time nor the desire for another bloody argument tonight."

Emma's mouth thinned until her lips were almost invisible altogether. "Fine," she ground out, reaching into her jacket pocket, "we'll do this the hard way."

A pair of silver handcuffs glinted in the lantern light, and Killian backed up instinctively, but Emma was too quick for him. He swore as she snapped a cuff around his right wrist, and the other around her own left wrist. "Dammit, Emma! I know I've generally been on the wrong side of the law for the past three hundred years," he grunted as she dragged him to her car and slid inside, pulling him after, "but I understand you can't just handcuff me whenever you feel like it."

"My shift is over. I'm not on duty, Hook." She reached over him with her other arm and pulled the car door closed. A lovely floral scent lingered in the air she occupied.

"Good," he said with effort, once she retreated to her side of the car again, taking the lovely aroma with her. "Then as I've not done anything wrong..." He lifted his arm, gesturing to the handcuff with his hooked appendage.

"You shaved your beard."

"I beg your pardon?" he blinked.

"You. Shaved. Your. Beard."

He snorted. "And this is a crime now, is it?"

"I told you. I'm not on duty." She sighed, all traces of irritation draining from her face. "Why did you do it?"

"It doesn't matter why I bloody well did it," he rolled his eyes. I've no obligation to answer to you."

"I want to know," she insisted with an intent gaze.

"There are a number of things I'd love to have answers for too, darling, but-"

Emma leaned over, pressing her lips against his, cutting him off before he could even finish. Killian froze, heart hammering in his chest while she nipped playfully at his lower lip. He melted, all resistance evaporating along with his pride; he opened for her and their tongues slid and curled against each other in a desperate dance. Need coursed through him, and he felt himself harden. He lifted his hand to sift his fingers through the waterfall of golden hair that spilled over her shoulders, forgetting that he was handcuffed to her. Emma made a surprised noise and shifted, straddling his lap so that their handcuffed arms mirrored each other. Twining her fingers through his, she took the kiss deeper, and just as Killian thought he would explode with desire, she broke away. Panting heavily, she rested her nose against his, and he was struck with the reality of their intimate embrace.

"There's your answer," she whispered in a voice so soft he almost didn't hear her.

"If that was the answer, darling, you'll have to remind me what my question was," he joked, still trying to catch his breath. "Gods, Emma. That was an awful, dirty trick to play on a man."

"Who said it was a trick?"

"Don't toy with me, lass," he sighed.

"Dammit, Hook, I'm being serious!"

"Are you, now? Or do you just want answers this badly?"

"Both."

He stared at her for a moment, not quite daring to hope that she spoke the truth. He sighed and launched into a brief explanation, beginning with his near isolation after the aftermath of Cora, the suspicious looks and whispers about his _real_ agenda for saving Henry and settling in Storybrooke, and of course every nasty rumor from his days of piracy that Rumplestiltskin had been able to concoct. For while Killian had promised to give up his quest for revenge, his old enemy was still determined to destroy him by any means at his disposal-and with Belle by his side, keeping him in check, those means seemed reduced to petty, passive-aggressive swipes.

"So," he concluded, glad to be finished with the tale at last, "I shaved it off. Thought it might be shocking enough for them to sit up and take notice of other changes, too."

Emma gazed at him for a moment, as if she were considering something. "I like your beard."

Killian blinked. He was certain he couldn't have heard her quite right. "Pardon?"

"I like your beard," she repeated. "And you shouldn't care what Storybrooke thinks about you. I don't."

He stared at her for several heartbeats. A smile played at the corner of her mouth as she regarded him in return. "Careful, Swan," he said, interrupting the tense silence, "or I might start to think you've grown fond of me."

She tilted her head. "What if I have?"

"I'm serious," he warned with an edge to his voice. "Don't stoke fires you aren't prepared to maintain."

Her eyes narrowed. "I'm serious, too," she stated with a firmness that startled him. Cupping his face with her free hand, she rubbed a thumb against the smoothness of his jaw and kissed him fiercely.

Killian responded with eagerness this time. If this were nothing but a dream, he wanted to never wake up. Fingers slid through his hair, caressing his scalp and tilting his head back. Hot, open-mouthed kisses peppered his neck in a trail from his Adam's apple to just behind his left ear. "Emma," he groaned helplessly as wetness enveloped his earlobe and she began to suckle it.

"You shouldn't have shaved your beard," she gasped, pulling away several moments later with a heat in her voice composed of both passion and fury. With deft fingers, she unbuckled the belt of his jeans and pulled it loose with one furious tug. "Now," she warned with a stormy expression in her eyes, "you are going to pay."

He laughed, despite the maddening way her hands snuck beneath the hem of his shirt and slid up his chest, stroking, probing, and claiming every inch of his skin. "If this is how you get even, love, I'm only going to be naughty more often."

"I'm counting on it," she said in a sultry voice, her eyes smoldering with intent. His jeans became tighter than he'd ever thought possible, the strength of his erection straining against the heavy fabric. "Emma," he begged, his voice caught somewhere between a whimper and a moan, "some help, love." Killian bucked his hips for emphasis.

The wicked laughed that answered him sent a chill of pleasure down his spine. "All in good time." She leaned toward him again, smirking, and lifted a corner of his shirt up. Soft golden hair slid against his belly as she tilted her head to the side and gently raised their hands. Soft, warm lips pressed against his rib cage, inches beneath the joint of his arm. Wetness saturated his skin as her tongue laved against him, and he gasped in surprise. Before he could fully process this, she switched tactics and suckled his skin with greater and greater intensity, as if she meant to inhale him altogether. A shock of pleasure washed through him, threatening to drown him in its undertow. "Gods, Emma," he whined breathlessly. "What are you doing?"

She pulled away, gazing at him with amusement. "No one's ever given you a hickey before? Not even Milah?"

"A-a what?" He blinked in confusion, helpless to gather the scattered pieces of his mind.

"Never mind," she grinned at him. "You'll figure it out later." She pulled the neckline of his shirt down and plied the line of his shoulder with firm, wet kisses. With vague, desperate thoughts of keeping her pressed against him like this forever, he carefully wrapped his hooked arm around her waist. She nipped at his collarbone, and Killian let his head fall back against the seat, defeated. Pain and pleasure rolled through him in large waves, the sensations as inseparable as devoted lovers.

Drugged by a haze of lust and adoration for his Emma, his beautiful blonde, emerald-eyed goddess, it was some time before Killian registered the fact that she had removed the brace from his arm, leaving him to cradle her with only the crook of his left arm. He blinked in surprise, too high with the backwash of all that she was doing to him to feel any of the embarrassment or shame that he'd anticipated. "Emma?" he whispered, gazing into her green eyes with wonder. "Love?"

She smiled at him, her face lighting up in the semi-darkness of the carriage, and Killian felt his heart sing in response to the unrestrained affection that radiated from her. He leaned forward to kiss her with gentle affection, but she pulled away with a crooked smile, her eyes glinting with mischief. Cool metal slid against his skin, he felt a tug, and heard the loud rip of fabric. Killian glanced down and his eyes widened in disbelief when he saw that Emma had used his hook to tear open the front of his jeans. Glancing up at him slyly from beneath her lashes, she smirked in satisfaction and slid his underwear down just enough to release him.

"Emma!" he protested weakly. "Those were designer jeans! I spent a fortune on them!"

She leaned close to his left ear. "I'll buy you another pair," she whispered in a sultry tone, her warm breath causing him to stir restlessly. "But," she said, gazing at him with a heat in her eyes that surprised him, "just between you and me, I prefer the leather." Warm fingers encircled his shaft and gave it a gentle tug, causing Killian to moan loudly. "Don't retire it altogether."

"Your wish is my command," he choked out as she began her ministrations in earnest.

"I'll do all the commanding tonight, Captain," she said with an arch of her brow. "You're being punished, remember?"

"Am-am I to take it that you outrank me?" he managed, his eyes practically rolling back into their sockets as she lowered her mouth onto him and began to caress his manhood with hot, furious strokes of her tongue. "Gods!" he all but shouted when she nipped gently at his shaft. "Fuck, Emma!" He raised his cuffed hand in restless desperation, fingers twitching to touch her, to rake his fingers through that curtain of golden hair.

"Don't we always?" she laughed some time later, when she relented in her torture.

Killian blinked at her, trying to piece together just what in hell she was talking about, what her words were in reference to, then limply shrugged a shoulder. He didn't really give a damn. "Emma," he panted, trying to reach for her with his cuffed hand again, and cursing at his inability to manage this simple task, shackled to her as he was. It was the sweetest tortured he'd never imagined in his life, being tied to her in this way, yet unable to give her as good as she gave him. "Emma, _please_." He shook his wrist and wriggled his fingers for emphasis.

"All right," she laughed, reaching into her jacket pocket for a key. She dangled in front of his face, and he growled in frustration. Laughing, she dropped it down the front of her shirt and he watched it disappear into her cleavage. "But you have to work for it first."

Killian didn't need to be told twice. She lifted herself to her knees, arching into him, and he fastened onto the front of her shirt with his teeth and yanked. The fabric tore unevenly, and he quickly re-positioned his teeth, pulling it open farther.

"What the hell, Hook!" Emma yelled. "What am I going to tell my parents when I wander home with my shirt ripped up?"

"Turn about is fair play, love," he breathed, kissing her square between her breasts. "You should have thought of that before you ripped my jeans. Ought to give the boys something to cheer about tonight, though."

She shifted. "Wait-what?" She peered down at him in confusion.

"You're making me late for poker night, love."

"Those were your plans?"

"Every Wednesday night," he admitted, returning his attention to her breasts. Flicking his tongue in the crevice between her breasts, he stroked her warm, supple skin with a slow tenderness. He nudged aside a flap of torn fabric with his nose, nuzzling into her right breast. "Jefferson, Victor, Eric...and me." Something silver glinted at him inside the small, flimsy corset that she wore. Grinning triumphantly, he stretched his tongue into the crevice of the undergarment with one long stroke, curled his tongue around it, and pulled away with a smirk, the object dangling from between his teeth.

Laughing softly, she took the key from him and set to work unlocking the cuffs while he admired the rosy blush that stained her cheeks. Gods, but she was a beautiful, fierce lass. Full of life and adventure and everything he had ever dreamed of wanting in a woman-and so much more besides. Her fingers brushed against his wrist, unshackling him at last, and his muscles coiled with eager tension.

The moment she stowed the handcuffs in her jacket pocket, he pounced. Clothes were quickly divested, and soon nothing more than a vague memory as they collapsed against each other, skin melding against skin, clinging to each other for dear life. That he had only one hand mattered little in the end, for his mouth and fingers did their damnedest to be everywhere at once; touching, exploring, stroking, pinching...he experimented with abandon, filing away all her responses in his memory for later.

"Emma," he breathed, fingers stroking her sensitive core, smiling with smug satisfaction at the slickness he found there, "are you ready, love?"

"That depends," she heaved between breaths.

"On?"

"Whether you can keep up."

His eyes narrowed. "That a challenge, love? You know how I feel about those."

"Prove it," she hissed.

Nipping her on the soft flesh beneath her chin in answer, he screwed his eyes shut and plunged into her warmness. Inhaling with a shudder, he opened his eyes with great effort and gazed into the fiery green depths of her eyes. With great care and gentleness, he began to move.

"Dammit, Hook!" she growled, fingernails scraping into his back with frustration. "Faster!"

He chuckled. "All in good time, love."

She nipped him fiercely on the shoulder. "I don't want slow," she whined, squirming restlessly beneath him, arching her hips to meet his own. "I want it hard and fast."

"My, my, Swan," he chuckled, "this is an interesting side of you. I should have known you'd like it rough."

Her fingers scraped against his jaw, and she looked at him meaningfully. "Yeah. I do."

Swallowing around a lump in his throat, Killian increased the pace of their tryst and didn't answer. Hot skin seared hot skin, over and over, as he thrust with every ounce of energy he possessed. His breath became ragged and his thoughts increasingly broken and erratic, and he wasn't even certain of his own name anymore, until her drawn out scream tore through his consciousness.

"Killian!" she repeated feverishly as she rode out the waves of her orgasm. "Killian," she half-sobbed, fingernails digging into his back again. "My Killian," she whispered, gazing up at him with wonder in her eyes and a becoming blush on her cheeks and collarbone, proof of her satisfaction.

It was the last that did it, her claiming of him as her own. With a gasp and a moan, his thrusts became erratic and frenzied, and he poured out his release into her at last. He buried his face into the curve of her neck, whimpering her name with such vulnerability and tenderness that it might have shamed him under other circumstances. But this was his Emma. And he was home-_safe_-at last.

They held each other for a time, fingers stroking and comforting one another in the cramped semi-darkness of the carriage, until Emma shifted beneath him and spoke at last. "Better get to your poker game," she murmured.

Killian pulled back and settled on the other side of the car, reaching for his clothes. "Give me a hand, love?" he asked with a soft smile. "I still haven't the knack for these new garments."

Chuckling, she surged forward and planted a kiss on his lips. "As you wish."

Getting dressed again was no easy task in the small space the back seat of her car afforded, and Killian marveled that they had managed to undress each other at all. He smirked to himself as she smoothed his t-shirt into place over his stomach, fingers lingering longer than strictly necessary. He'd wager his best hook that they would both sport a few bruises from the experience, cramped space notwithstanding.

"Wait a minute," Emma said, reaching into the front seat after she dressed herself again. She leaned back, handing him something silver. "For your jeans."

He frowned. "What is it, love?"

"Safety pin. It'll get you home, though I'd avoid walking under any bright lights with that gaping hole," she laughed, carefully fastening it into place.

"My thanks," he replied with a wink. He leaned in for a kiss, and she pulled back.

"Listen," she said, clearing her throat. "I need to make something clear. This-this was a one time thing."

He growled, punching the seat of the car. "Fuck, Emma! You can't just-"

Her lips descended onto his, strangling any words he'd meant to say. She pulled away, her green eyes sparkling with humor. "At least," she grinned, "until you grow your beard back."

He blinked several times, trying to process her words. "I see," he managed after a time. "Right away, then, lady," he smiled, lifting her hand to his lips. "Anything you wish."

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**A/N: Some of my reviewers have mentioned that they simply cannot picture Hook/Killian without a beard, and I somewhat agree. If he's wearing the leather, he must have the beard. Clean-shaven wouldn't look right with it. But put him in some more modern clothes, and I can begin to picture it. I never used to be able to, until I watched some of the AU videos by Just4FunVids925 on youtube. Check out the videos "Just Give Me a Reason" and "She Will Be Loved" in particular, as pieces of Colin's other work was edited into them to tell the stories, and you can see scenes of Colin without a beard. **

**I totally blame those videos for influencing me to picture Killian beardless in some of the modern world AU Captain Swan fics I read, now. **


End file.
